


Lockdown/Prowl AUs

by Glitch1 (The_Glitches)



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Acid Rain - Freeform, Airplane Crashes, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Fighting, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Harrassment, Nightclub, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, bounty hunts, cumflation, injured
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glitches/pseuds/Glitch1
Summary: An in-progress collection of AU shorts all featuring the characters Lockdown and Prowl from TFA. Rating and warnings may change as chapters are added.May possibly include Jazz/Prowl AUs also.





	1. Plane Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Finding time to write has been hard, and unfortunately the actual writing part is also hard for me lately, but I'm always inspired by author creativity when it comes to AU prompts, especially the incredible work posted during AUgust. I wanted to flex my writing hand again and give some prompts a try with one (or two) of my fav pairings.
> 
> To those waiting on Progress updates, I've been working on the next chapter recently, and hope to have it out soon!

Casual murmurs and alien language delivered the ambience in lieu of on-board music, filling the space of the transport with considerate levels and the occasional burst of volume from a loud talker. Most were locals, some were offworlders. Prowl didn’t care nor look too closely at the curious glances as he sat in his seat, pressed as close to the wall and offering the small window views the majority of his attention. The other part of his focus drifted to the only other Cybertronian on board the small carrier, much larger than he and bestowing more of his own attention than was comfortable on the small ninjabot. Thankfully, the stranger spent most of his time subtly scrutinizing the other occupants, with something of a wary, suspicious glint in his optics. His _red_ optics.

Prowl didn’t know the area, didn’t care either, he kept moving. But he knew the chances of seeing another Cybertronian out here was slim. Impossible? No, just small. Having never left Cybertron before in his life, he didn’t know if this was a popular planet for those of his kind who were granted leave outside of Cybertronian space. He also didn't know if this was a planet frequented by those banished from his home world long ago. They all had red optics, didn't they?

The transport bumped a little as it hit air turbulence, cleaving through the low clouds of a vast organic valley. Prowl couldn’t turn his gaze away from the view outside. They were miles high, even more miles wide was the mountain range they were flying through. White substances coated the higher levels of the mountains, and Prowl wondered if the clouds here solidified and settled into smooth layers of white. There were no populated areas in view now, they had moved away from the main city hub.

Without any warning, the transport jerked sharply, and only Prowl’s reflexes caught the hand-hold on the chair in front before he could be thrown to the floor like so many of the others. Surprised calls chorused around, but before they could pick themselves from their sprawls, the speaker system squealed out the distressed vocals of the pilot. Prowl didn’t need to understand the alien language as everyone in the transport cupped the back of their bulbous heads and uttered frightened shrieks, curling into their neighbors or bracing themselves on the floor. 

Spark racing with fear, Prowl slid to the floor between his seat and the front one, clutching the hand-hold as tightly as possible as alarms erupted through the transport, catapulting his fright into full-blown terror – 

The Transport exploded, screams were ripped from their owners as occupants were thrown into the air.

Suddenly everything was chaos. Forces unlike anything Prowl had felt tried to wrench him from his death-grip on the handle as a cry of terror was stripped from his vocalizer. To his horror he saw the world spinning below him through the hole torn into the shuttle – people were sucked out of the cabin like flies, screaming in horror amidst the roaring of the air. Prowl felt the G forces pulling his frame away from the wall and with a sob he clung that much harder. 

_He was going to die, he was going to die – _

He glimpsed the ground rushing towards them and he knew it was the end for him.

Prowl barely heard the monstrous crash of their transport before everything was no more.

//

There was… something.

A sensory feedback. Which one?

No thought, no movement, just conscious awareness stuck deep in a sludge of dampening void. Something… something should be. Or something should happen.

A vibrational auditory input. 

And again.

The sludge ebbed just a little, enough for a second sensory feedback. Temperature. Cold.

Without waiting, pain receptions lit alive, and a raw gasp burned its way out. Like a cascade, each system onlined in a cruel bombardment of data and input.

“..d”

Amongst the pain, the disorientation and the bubbling ghosts of terror, Prowl’s focus narrowed as much as it could to the sound. He felt aware of extremities as they burned in agony, he needed another sound, he needed it to bring him out. He felt a cold sting of panic in his spark as the seconds (minutes? Hours?) ticked by waiting for another sound to guide him.

“... .. there?”

Prowl clutched at the sound in the same way he had clutched at the hand-hold. He found the processor strength to attempt a response, and choked out a noise that might have been a question.

“Online yer visor.”

Sluggish responses resulted in the simple task requiring a great amount of effort, but finally, Prowl’s optical band onlined, and his visor glowed a dim teal, flickering against the sore light bouncing off the white environment.

“Yer with me?”

The vibrations of a vocalizer were close. A few visor reboots and Prowl was able to _see_.

Another Cybertronian looked down at him, red optics like a beacon Prowl couldn’t turn away from. He was famil –

Prowl gasped, memories a flood as the transport crash returned to him. His head jerked, a motion he regretted as pain exploded behind his visor. Clenching his teeth, he waited for his vision to stop flashing.

“Be wise to take it easy, kid,” the gravelly voice suggested. “Yer got a Pit of a head wound, among other things.”

Prowl rolled his head slowly back to the mech, looking up at him a little clearer, despite the skewed angle. He was sat beside the prone ninjabot, regarding him with a weary calm, something in one hand. Prowl stared at him. His faceplates were strange even among the broad variety of Cybertronian designs. They might have unnerved him had he met this mech any other time, but right now he felt no fear. He didn’t know if that was a mistake or not.

The mech turned his attention to the thing in his hand, and Prowl flinched as small, bright sparks spat from the device he was using to fix his other arm and … hook. He had a hook. 

Prowl’s visor dented with a small frown. He looked at the rest of the mech. Larger than what Prowl considered large for Cybertronian, he sported nasty looking spikes from his plating, his arms and legs of which were mismatched. He was... quite a menacing sight.

Tearing his gaze away, Prowl felt strong enough to look around. The wreckage of the crash was directly behind him, in fact the other Cybertronian was leaning against it. But… it didn’t look like much of the transport shuttle at all. Small parts lay strewn around them on the strange cold, white ground; green organic life sat beneath the layers that had been scuffed away. Rocky formations obscured his view of anything else. Including the other occupants.

“Are –er,” Prowl’s vocalized failed briefly, and he rebooted it before continuing. “Are there other survivors?”

The mech didn’t cease his fixing. “Just us, kid.” The sparks stopped and he blew away debris from his arm, eyeing it. “Organics ain’t as sturdy as we are.”

Prowl found his gaze staring through the strange mech, sluggish processor filing away the tragic information. He didn’t know any of them, but death… death was a shock too raw and familiar for him to be unaffected, a shock he had not yet recovered from.

His frame pulsed with pain, and he was reminded of injuries he hadn’t even looked at. He almost didn’t dare, he feared what he would see. 

Or not see. 

He took a deep vent and found his hands, twitching his fingers. They were all there, miraculously all intact. He dragged them up, pressed and pushed his upper body onto his elbow, gritting his teeth as his chassis protested and his head buzzed with the strain. Over his windshield he saw both legs, but the right was damaged significantly, covered almost entirely in energon stains. Prowl looked away, jaw clenched and processor reeling with nausea, and then returned his gaze when he was sure he could handle it. He could see internal workings mangled within, and for one second he wondered why his energon wasn’t spurting out of him.

“You clamped my lines?” He asked, dazed.

“Would’a’ bled out, otherwise,” the mech said without looking up from his arm repair.

Prowl couldn’t comprehend. Maybe it was the shock still affecting his mind, or the cold temperatures starting to chill his fractured body, or the fact that this didn’t look like a charitable mech at all, so he blurted out, “why?”

The other Cybertronian stopped his ministrations and looked at him, red optics trained unnervingly. “Yer plating density is that of a mech barely into his first millennia; yer shouldn’t have survived either, kid.” He quirked a marked eyebrow. “But yer did. Now, I didn’t find anything in that compact little chassis of yers, “ he said as he tapped the tool against Prowl’s Autobot badge, making him shift away, “that would have generated the energy field that I saw when we hit, so I’m left to assume yer either an outlier, or someone, somewhere, _really_ didn’t want yer to die. Either way, it guttered out before half the shuttle collapsed on yer. I can respect that stubbornness to cling to life, so I pulled yer out.”

Prowl froze, processing what the huge mech had said. Thoughts whirled around his mind in a dizzying assault. He should have died. An energy field? Something saved him? 

Was it… _him_? No, no that was impossible.

Transformation clicking brought him from his thoughts and he cleared his gaze to see plating of the mech’s large, hook-arm shifting, resettling. He appeared satisfied with his repairs, rotating his arm to check its maneuverability. The hook glinted in the dispersed light, Prowl found himself staring.

“What’s yer name, kid?”

The question caught him by surprise, and for a second his memory blanked. “Prowl.”

The mech studied him for a few moments before rising to his pedes, lanky frame unfolding to tower over Prowl. “Lockdown.” Then he stepped over the ninjabot and made his way around the wreckage out of sight. “Gotta check the skies.”

Prowl watched him disappear, uneasiness twinging with the absence of his strange companion. He was dangerous, that much Prowl knew, but he was the only other survivor, and so far had shown him no ill-will.

Lockdown returned a minute later, holding a blaster. Prowl stiffened.

“Where did you find that?”

Lockdown didn’t even glance at him, regarding the sky above them. “Didn’t find it. S’ mine.”

Must have been in his subspace. Maybe he was cautious of animals, apparently organic wildlife was plentiful and could be dangerous. With difficulty, Prowl torn his gaze from the weapon and looked up at what little he could see of the sky beyond the rocky outcrops above and around them. “Are you looking for the rescue ship?” That’s what they were waiting for, right?

“Rescue ship won’t get here in time.”

Something heavy and apprehensive clutched the ninjabot’s spark. “In time?”

Finally, Lockdown looked down at him. “Our transport was no accident, kid. We were shot down.”

Ice prickled at his struts. “Shot down?” Prowl whispered, visor wide. All those locals killed. _On purpose_.

Red optics glinted. “They’ll be here, soon. Yer ever been in a fire fight?”

Slowly, numbly, Prowl shook his head.

“Those boosters of yours reliable?”

He nodded.

“Good. Yer won’t be very nimble with that busted leg, but at least yer ain’t grounded.” He looked back the way he had come from. “This bit is pretty hidden, but if they spot the wreckage from the main crash site they’ll be up here looking. What’s left of ‘em anyway.”

Prowl frowned, not following. He shifted, sitting up straighter, wincing as his actions pulled on his damaged leg and reigniting the fiery pain. He reached for his good one and unclipped the shuriken from its mount. “I have a weapon,” he announced. “But, without maneuverability I won’t be of much use.”

Lockdown stared at the shuriken fixedly, something unreadable in his optics that made Prowl suddenly wary. He didn’t dare move in the silence that followed.

“Ninjabot, huh?”

Prowl eyed him carefully, resting the shuriken on his belly but clutching it firmly. “Yes.”

Those red optics transferred their intensity from the shuriken to Prowl’s visor, and he felt his spark stutter as they held him. It felt like he was being reevaluated.

“Shame yer banged up, kid. Would have liked to have seen yer moves.” Those optics finally turned away, their weight gone with his gaze.

Prowl felt only a slither of relief. Something about this mech was unexplainably intense; something very different than any other mech he had met before. He was both curious and suspicious, wanting to know more and yet wanting nothing more than to leave this place, seek aid and maybe never see him again. It was just dumb coincidence that probably the only two Cybertronians on the organic planet would board a shuttle together and that shuttle would get gunned down…

Something just then occurred to him.

“They’re after you,” he realized aloud.

Lockdown met his gaze and smirked. “Yer ain’t wrong.”


	2. Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My summary of this chapter was nice and short.
> 
> It did not end up that way.
> 
> Also, explicit interfacing in this chapter.

Ah Cybertron. It was almost good to be back.

Lockdown slipped from the shadows of a home unit swiftly and without sound, closing the previously locked door with practiced force and into the narrow street. No idea whose home he had broken into to use as a cut-through and he didn’t much care. Right now he had to lose his tails, and there were plenty of them to lose. Ah, the thrill of the chase. Usually he was the one chasing, though.

Thumping bass and distant muffled music drew his attention. A club. Perfect. A small but bright glowing sign beckoned him towards it from across the street, into its crowded, writhing numbers and dark, concealing depths. He took off quickly, aware guards were combing the streets a ways behind in search of him.

A couple of drinking mechs playing wall decoration glanced at him as he reached the establishment, though they were quickly intimidated by a well-perfected glare and a dark, searing field, and took to eyeing their drinks with sudden fascination.

The door – single pane, it was a back door entrance – slid open at his arrival and he was immersed in sweet vapes, cube-rattling beats and a mass of Cybertronians of all shapes and sizes, just a handful seizing in what Lockdown could only assume was dancing. He moved in further, disappointed with the light levels and the consequent lack of Lockdown-sized shadows. This was a poor environment to hide in – what kind of club didn’t sacrifice it’s patrons to the hazardous pitfalls of low-lighting? If you could make it across the room without accidentally shunting some poor bot into his own drink, it was not fit of the title ‘club’.

Disappointed though it was, it was spacious with plenty of levels, pillars and booths, and of course drunk idiots; all objects that hindered a quick and descent search and could provide precious seconds (and distractions) for a fresh getaway.

Movement from his peripheral caught his attention and he swore as one of his pursuers, a medium-bulk bot in guard colors, entered the premises from across the floor a mezzanine down, already sweeping his level for a single bot matching Lockdown’s size and silhouette. A nanosecond replay of his own automatic sweep informed Lockdown that a large number of club-goers sported spiky kibble that could easily fit his vague description. Problem was, most of them were not alone, and an engex test would verify their alibi.

Lockdown’s sharp, red optics scoured his level, looking for an option or else eliminate his chances here. He was on perhaps the quietest level, where it was easiest to see the bar, a feature that shone white like a beacon in the dim-not-dim-enough lighting so that even the most bulldozed clubbers could crawl their way back to it without confusion. Each level had a bar, but this looked like the least busy. 

Before he turned his optics away, activity at the bar made him still and watch. Two medium-build bots, one navy and one red, looming around a third wouldn’t have caught his attention any other day, but it was clear to anyone who could read body language that the little two-wheeler was appreciating _none_ of it, turning away only to find one on each side. It looked like a classic case of unwanted attention, bordering on harassment – the likes of which Lockdown usually wouldn’t care less for. Maybe been guilty of himself.

But his processor saw an opportunity, and already his large pedes were taking him over there as, always in his sights, the guard began climbing the steps to his level, switching from silent sneak-away to cocky stride as he adopted the role he was about to throw down.

“C’mon gorgeous, we’ll go away if you have one drink with u–!”

Lockdown unceremoniously grabbed the red one by his collar flaring and flung him from the seat on the little bot’s left, dropping his considerable lanky weight onto the stool in his stead and granting all of his black-tattooed attention to the startled two-wheeler.

“Hey darlin’, sorry I’m late,” he purred, and pulled the small bot into a strut-heating kiss just as the guard emerged and looked their way, gaze lingering on them. Only when the mech passed did Lockdown pull back.

“Hey!” Called the red one angrily, picking himself from his ungraceful stumble on the nearby booth.

Lockdown leveled a dangerous glare at him. “Who the frag are these guys?” He asked his new date, playing his role.

“Uh,” the little bot uttered, seemingly trying to catch up with the events.

“You’re his mate?” The navy mech asked, standing by his ruffled companion and eyeing Lockdown carefully.

Sealing the charade, Lockdown slowly and deliberately stood to his full height, shoulder spikes glinting menacingly, field threatening. “And?” He demanded, towering over them. The guard was moving away.

“Nothing, nothing,” the navy one replied quickly, tugging his friend. “We didn’t know he was taken. He didn’t say.”

“You know now, so frag off,” Lockdown growled.

They scampered off with satisfying haste. It was good to look like a psycho.

Relaxing just enough to continue his pretense, he sank back into the stool and propped his elbows behind on the counter, aiming a grin at the bot he could finally look at.

He was promptly punched in the face.

“That’s for kissing me without consent,” the little bot said, anger dinting his bright visor as he curled his hand back around his cube with the other and stared at it. “I would have handled them.“ The anger smoothed away into disapproval and then what might have been gratitude. “But… thank you... They were persistent creeps.”

Bots smaller than him didn’t usually throw punches at Lockdown’s face, it was rare to meet someone who had the barings. The bounty hunter grinned anew.

“Looked like yer could use an assist. Seen what happens to some who can’t take no for an answer.”

The little bot looked at him fully. He had a long, slim face and a golden chevron crowing his angular visor. A pretty mech, especially in those sleek colors. Black and gold certainly enhanced his small stature. Two-wheelers were uncommon, no wonder he gathered attention.

“And are _you_ one of those who can’t take no for an answer?” The mech asked, staring at Lockdown boldly.

“Always depends what the question is,” he answered with an underlying tone of seriousness, but then quirked his lip plates into a semi-smirk when the little bot’s visor tilted. “Yer don’t gotta worry about me, kid. Yer want me gone, I’ll go. No fuss.”

The mech scrutinized him for a second – a second that felt weighty and strangely invading. His slim frame relaxed just a touch and he turned back to his drink. “You may stay.”

Lockdown huffed, amused. Something clocked his scanners and he switched his focus from the first guard to see another enter the scene from the same steps. Lockdown casually swiveled around on his stool and propped an elbow back on the counter, head in his hand as he attempted a non-threatening smile at the mech he was shifting closer to. An intimate closeness.

“The glitch brothers are still checking you out,” he lied smoothly. “Idiots like those two dunno when to quit. Probably hoping you’ll leave this joint by yerself later.”

A look of unease crossed the bot’s face, gaze still on his drink. “I can take care of myself if I have to. I just wish they would leave me be.” He tiled his head just slightly and looked curiously at the bounty hunter. “And for who are _you_ putting on this charade?”

Had he not been trained so well, Lockdown would have tilted his head in interest and caginess. “What makes yer think I am?”

The bot paused. “A hunch.”

Lockdown narrowed his optics in suspicion, but the bot merely raised an angle of his visor, expecting an answer. When he received none, he shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“You smell of the outside air, which tells me you’ve entered very recently, you have no drink and you don’t… taste of engex,” the mech shifted in his seat. “You don’t strike me as a clubber nor a Do-Gooder, so this pretense is aiding you somehow, too.” He glanced up at Lockdown’s hard optics, undeterred by them, studying him back. “If it is convenient for the both of us that you to pretend to be my mate, then continue. But please, no kissing.”

After a few seconds assessing the young bot’s threat level, Lockdown’s systems eased their tension by a touch, and he found himself reluctantly impressed. “Perceptive, kid,” he said, sub-systems watching the two guards’ every move. “Who are yer?”

“My name is Prowl,” he answered, staring back at his drink, solemnity edging into his sleek features. “I’m no one of importance.”

Hm, issues there, maybe. Lockdown let that comment slide for now. “Prowl,” he purred, eliciting a quick glance at the way in which his name was uttered. “Stealthy name.” Perfect for a would-be hunter. Senses detected the guards nearing once again, and true to his role, he took Prowl’s slim face in his large hand and tilted it towards him, shifting the grip into a caress that would look, to the casual observer, like two lovers gazing at one another. “Silent type in both words and moves, I bet,” he rumbled, face plates close enough they could feel each other’s frame heat.

Playing along, though noticeably self-conscious if only visible to Lockdown, Prowl’s visor angle softened. “I live up to my name,” he responded in an equally low volume. He was a decent little actor, but it was clear he wasn’t accustomed to closeness with any bot. Lockdown could feel his tenseness through the micro-tremors in his frame.

The guards disappeared to a couple of separate, higher levels. They would be back, but for now Lockdown granted the poor kid a reprieve and slid back just slightly, wondering how long he would have to blend in, and how far their search had advanced if he were to try and sneak back to his ship now. At the moment, something that might have been a spark of interest in the two-wheeler kept him seated, and since he was safe for now, he might as well satisfy this rare curiosity.

“So, since you took one look at me, kid, and showed off your deduction skills,” Lockdown started, hitting the touch screen panel inlaid into the counter for the bartender, “it’s only fair for me to return it.” Out the corner of his optic he noticed the two hasslers hanging by a table, ironically throwing glances in their direction just as Lockdown had lied only moments ago. He smirked, shifted closer so his tattooed mouth touched the little bots gold-lined helm, where his concealed audial receptors lay. Prowl stiffened. “Yer’ve had that one cube for the duration of your presence here,” he rumbled lowly, lip plates brushing the sleek, black plating. “Sipping the tiniest amounts so it will keep you occupied, and it’s plain energon, too, not engex. Yer back’s to the rest of the club, yer haven’t once turned around, which means yer’ve got no interest in anything going on here, and even more, yer don’t want to _catch_ any interest. But for some reason you’re sat at the bar, a place yer know will attract bots, but also a location easy to find, on the quietest level.” He waited a beat, enjoying the way in which the bot shivered at the vibrations of his voice. “Yer not here by choice, yer here for something. Waiting for something.”

The little bot, turned his head just so, face plates a little flushed. “Are we even now?”

Lockdown’s smirked tugged a bit more. “You tell me, kid.”

Prowl looked back at his drink, his terribly fascinating, half-finished drink. “Yes, we’re even,” He answered. “I’m not here by choice. My friend works here, I’m waiting for him to finish.” Prowl paused. “He’s late.”

Lockdown spied the bar server finally hurrying over from a top level, as white as the damn bar counter itself and just as florescent. Nicely shaped, too.

As he approached, his visor hardened into a frown upon seeing Lockdown and Prowl. Lockdown wasn’t sure which of them it was aimed at, but as the mech pressed his palm into the identifier and the glass cabinets slid open to reveal the many colorful drinks, he leveled that hard expression on Lockdown, and Prowl quickly put ample space between them.

“Who are you?” He demanded. “Prowl, you okay?”

“It’s fine, Jazz,” Prowl said dismissively. “Are you almost finished?”

Ah, the friend. 

Jazz ignored Lockdown for a moment, even though he had called the bartender. “I’m real sorry, Prowl. There’s a couple of private parties taking up all our free mechs, I waited on my shift cover but he called not two klicks ago, saying he can’t make it.”

Prowl’s shoulder dropped. “Oh, so…”

“I gotta cover extra tonight, I gotta help out,” Jazz explained, his expression and tone apologetic. He took Prowl’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll get an external keylock printed tomorrow, but if you wanna wait another hour or so, maybe it’ll die down enough to drive back to mine, letcha in and come ba –“

“No,” Prowl interrupted, shaking his head. “No, Jazz, it’s fine, you’re too busy to waste your time like that. I’ll get a hotel room.”

“Prowl,” Jazz argued, though he knew he couldn’t offer an alternative. He glanced furtively at Lockdown before lowering his voice. “I don’t want you on your own…” He sighed. “I promised I’d look out for you and… Pits, I’m already breaking that promise.”

Prowl forced a small smile. “You’re not. You’ve got work, I understand.” He reaffirmed their hands if only to assure his friend. “I’ll be fine.”

Jazz deliberately looked at Lockdown and back. “Will you?” He said pointedly.

The two-wheeler gave a tiny smirk at that. “I will.”

Jazz looked at him for a long moment, releasing the smaller bots hand. “Fine, but I’m paying for your room. I’ll transfer the credits over now.” His visor glowed brightly as he accessed his internal connection. When he was done he finally turned to Lockdown. “Now, what can I get you and why on Primus were you sitting so close to my bro?”

“Cool it,” Lockdown raised his hands in surrender, not wanting to entice any unwanted attention right now. The guards were still out of sight, but they could wander back, and if they decided to look too closely at Lockdown, they might decide he did actually fit their description and needed to be questioned. “Nothing untoward going on.”

“He was just helping to ward off some unwanted attention, Jazz,” Prowl answered, looking over his shoulder for the first time to spot the two offenders. “And it worked.”

Jazz leveled a look at the bounty hunter, taking in his menacing appearance. “I’m not surprised.”

Lockdown smirked. He ordered a drink and watched as Jazz executed his request with a style he had no doubt attained to show off. He didn’t quite put as much energy into this one as he no doubt did for guests who hadn’t been within touching distance of his younger ward.

“I’ll comm. you tomorrow, okay?” Jazz said to Prowl, who nodded. He pressed his forehelm against Prowl’s chevron before quickly disappearing to the more demanding guests.

“Close, huh?” Lockdown pried casually, tipping his drink back. It burned just right, but not too strong.

Prowl have a shallow, single nod, only just caught by Lockdown as a few new arrivals split his attention. More guards. That made a total of five searching for him in the establishment. They were not moving on, which concerned him.

“Time to leave?”

Prowl looked forlornly at his unfinished drink, silent for a moment as he contemplated. “Yeah.”

Lockdown held out his hand. “Do me the favor?” He requested with a lop-sided smirk. If he was going to get out without raising suspicion or being followed, he had to be convincing.

Prowl looked at it before lifting his visor to mimic a lesser version of Lockdown’s smirk. He took the hand with his own smaller one, and slid off the stool standing just barely beneath Lockdown’s chest plate. Damn, the kid was pretty. Good legs, study heels; if he could kick as well as he could punch they would certainly be lethal.

“Go with the flow, kid,” Lockdown encouraged as they made their way towards an exit, opposite to the side in which Lockdown had entered. He kept their gait steady and playful, not too fast, not running for the exit. He twirled Prowl in a spirited manner, like lovers who had been in the club for ages, eager to get home. The little bot was surprised, but played it well. He even smiled.

Two guards watched them as they passed. One painful moment had Lockdown tensing as one of the larger guards looked down at a data pad in her hand and back at him, studying. Then she turned away, apparently fooled by the premise that he had been here longer than her target had, with his mate as proof.

Idiot one and idiot two also followed their journey across the club, still bitter they had not scored tonight. As the two ‘lovebots’ stepped through the sliding door of the club’s entrance and out into the refreshing air of the night, Prowl chuckled quietly.

“They were not happy,” he said satisfyingly.

Lockdown quickly did a scan of the main street, detecting a couple of guards paying them no attention some ways behind along the outside walls of the club. Probably conferring with the inside guards through comms.. A few arriving clubbers approached them from the top of the street, but Lockdown set aside his defense systems to grin at his partner of the night.

“Karma’s a bitch.”

As they walked, still hand in hand, Prowl frowned at the foreign word. “What’s a ‘bitch’?”

Lockdown chuckled. “Been to many planets, picked up some colorful phrases. It’s an organic word.”

Suddenly the attentiveness that had been non-existent in the club shone outside at the mention of other worlds. Prowl stared at him, interest evident on his visor. “You’ve been to organic planets?”

“Been to many.” He looked down at the mech. “Yer’ve never been off Cybtertron?”

At this the little bot looked forward, expression reverting to his usual passive one. “No.” He left it at that.

They reached the top of the street where a piazza threaded off into different directions, the club only just visible through the buildings behind them.

Lockdown released his small hand, and the mech turned to him, both ready to say their goodbyes.

“Been a pleasant getaway, this is where you and I part ways,” Lockdown grinned. “ I –”

“It’s HIM!”

Both whirled around. A group of five guards and a fanciful-looking mech approached from a different street. Lockdown recognized the odd mech, he was the owner of the estate he had so masterfully broken into and burgled. His prize sat heavy in his subspace.

“I recognize those spikes – that was the mech, I’m sure of it!”

Blaster and tasers whined online as the five guards advanced, target now confirmed. Lockdown had not expected the estate owner to be out looking for him, but it made sense, he caught the best glimpse of his retreating backside so he was best suited to identifying it.

“Do not move, do not resist,” the leading guard ordered as the other four started to surround them. “You have been accused of theft, and will be apprehended by the Security Forces of the Grand Highfire Estate, where you will be held and interrogated. Your accomplice will be detained until his innocence can be con-”

A flurry of movement to his south east activated Lockdown’s reactions and he spun around – just in time to watch Prowl hurl one of the much larger guards to the ground, using their own body momentum against them in a move Lockdown recognized as a well-executed combat maneuver. Prowl looked up. Lockdown stared. 

He had _not_ expected that.

“Get them then!” The estate owner yelled at his motionless guards.

The piazza exploded into a rush of movements. Lockdown ducked a blow aimed for his faceplates and rose with an uppercut driving enough force to pitch the guard onto a second level building balcony. He barely had enough time to dodge the following hook, but he caught the swing and guided the smaller mech’s leading force into one of his comrades, knocking them out, leaving Lockdown to finish off his second attacker with a powerful hit to the head. He spun to block a strong but telegraphed punch, battering their defenses and thrusting a mighty hit to their chest. They skidded away, and Lockdown caught a glance of Prowl, handling everything the larger guards threw at him and putting them down with remarkable skill. 

_Dayum._

More guards, alerted to the sighting of the suspect, fled from the futile search of the club and sprinted towards the fight in the streets beyond.

Lockdown leaned back from a nasty blow and quickly grabbed the offender, twisting his arm painfully behind his back as he jerked him into the path of a shot meant for his spark. It was a stun blast, these guys wanted him alive. He kept forgetting Cybertron was more forgiving than other planets.

A flash of black and gold, and Prowl landed before him, straightening into a readying stance. Lockdown flashed him a grin, and surprisingly, the little bot flashed one back. They dived away in unison, avoiding the fire of the stun guns.

The new guards joined, but they didn’t last long. Between the two of them, Lockdown and Prowl had carpeted the surrounding ground with moaning, groaning estate guards, and one valuable-item-less estate owner.

Drawing air into his vents to cool his heated frame, Lockdown overlooked their violent results with a sense of excitement and victory. He looked over at Prowl, whos little frame was venting just as much, and a burst of arousal swelled his lines. What a surprise in an unsuspecting, pretty package.

Prowl met his gaze, plating parting slightly to expel the hot air. He hadn’t had a decent fight like that since… in a while. He hadn’t let loose like that in longer.

“Yer a ninjabot,” Lockdown stated, respect in his optics as he admired the small two-wheeler. The ninja corps was a close, secretive family unit, and there were only a handful of them in the entire Cybertronian population. Lockdown knew the names and appearance of some, but others were not so easy to uncover. He moved over to the ninjabot, watching his reactions “Kid, that was amazing,” he smirked excitedly. A good fight always got him revved.

This close, Lockdown let his field brush the edges of Prowl’s, revealing his captivation with the little bot’s skill, his enjoyment of the fight, and his arousal of Prowl’s talent. To his pleasure, he felt the faint stirrings of yearning from the mech himself, though it was unsure, inexperienced. 

“Prowl.”

The ninjabot let him cup his face, let him slowly lean down and press their lips together. His frame hummed with the excitement and rush of their scuffle, energy still thrumming strong through his lines, making him restless and impulsive. He let his lips be coaxed open, and suddenly everything was twice as hot their kiss deepened. A bolt of arousal seared through him, and he wanted more. When they pulled away he found his hands cupping the mech’s own faceplates.

“Kid,” Lockdown asked in a throaty, pleasant rumble. “You up for a different kinda tussle?” 

Prowl shivered as it lit up senses all over his frame. He knew what Lockdown was asking, he’d never been interested in that before. But tonight he was, right now he wanted to do something different, he wanted something to take his mind away from the recent tragedies in life. He didn’t _know_ this Lockdown, and what he did know was far from someone he should be trusting. But he did. Strangely enough, his spark told him he could trust this mech, at least for tonight.

“Yes.”

His hand was enveloped, and the moaning mass of bodies was left in that piazza as he was guided away. A few more kisses were stolen along the way, until eventually they arrived at a well-respected hotel. Prowl vaguely remembered having money for this very accommodation, but it was paid for before he could protest and they were already leaving the lobby.

Before he could believe it, they were in the room, lights dim, hands roaming all over, his as well, and he was suddenly falling onto a soft berth with luxury pillows and illegal softness, Lockdown’s mouth claiming his. He was kissed silly, his arousal reigniting from its shy embers and alighting his frame with addictive sensations, small gasps escaping in the quick gaps. He kept up, matching Lockdown’s vigor with his own, despite feeling completely out of his depth. Even so, he felt exhilarated, his spark was pulsing rapidly in his chassis, so much so he was sure it could be felt.

Heat pooled to his interface array so quickly he would have been embarrassed had he cared. But he could feel the temperature rising from Lockdown and he felt assured they were both equally hot for each other. He barely heard the click of a spike panel retract, but he felt it pressurize against his own plating, and as though it was the signal for permission, he released his own, groaning in pleasure as it rubbed against Lockdown’s.

The bounty hunter was a furnace. He’d fallen into berth with other bots before, and hell even some aliens, but this little ninjabot had him so hot he was amazed by his own restraint that he hadn’t pounded him into the berth already. No, this one was inexperienced, whether he’d ever interfaced before or not, he was taking a chance with Lockdown, and for some reason, Lockdown wanted to treat this one right.

He slid a hand between their writhing frames and grasped their spike together. Prowl’s resulting groan only lit another fire inside him. Stroking them slowly, he felt every tremor and small jerk of the little bot’s body, barely holding himself back from thrusting his hips. He kept their motions smooth, a warm up for the night to come.

“Lock – Lockdown,” Prowl whispered, frame undulating beneath his supported weight (he’d crush the poor kid otherwise). “I’ve never – this is the first time I’ve…”

Lockdown silenced him with a kiss. “I won’t hurt yer, but I ain’t going easy on yer. Gonna make yer scream my name all night.”

Prowl jerked, very nearly overloading as he whimpered at Lockdown’s promise.

“Hope yer got stamina kid.”

And with a few well-placed squeezing tugs, Prowl’s frame seized in overload as his young frame expelled the intense pressure for the first time, shooting transfluid over his glass chassis. His visor flicked off and on as his systems adjusted energy levels around the recent charge expulsion. Then he slumped back onto the soft berth, fans running loudly, hips twitching sporadically as Lockdown reduced his stroking, his own spike still painfully hard.

He was allowed only a moment before Lockdown was kissing his way into his mouth, returning the heat in a steady flow as his hands began mapping the smaller bot’s frame. Prowl’s own hands found their way to the bounty hunter’s marked face as the haze of his overload cleared and his arousal began to burn again. He trailed his fingers along the mech’s thick neck and circled the spikes there, provoking a pleasing growl. Encouraged, he continued, eager to reciprocate even as he felt semi-coherent as Lockdown did wonderful things with his glossa. A nip to his bottom lip had him grunt in response, and Lockdown began trailing a path of licks and kisses down his chassis, over his spinning spark, towards his belly. The neck spikes slipped from his reach as Lockdown slid his body lower, until with a flush of molten heat Prowl realized where he was situated. Lockdown grinned hungrily at him from between his thighs, his spike twitching at the close proximity. But Lockdown slid his hands under Prowl’s small aft and lifted his hips to face level.

“Yer gonna open up for me kid?” Lockdown teased.

Prowl could hardly believe he was here in this position, with a dangerous mech between his thighs promising him a night of debauchery. How quickly things change. It wasn’t hard to command his panel to open, revealing his wet valve already dripping. 

The predatory gaze Lockdown gave him made Prowl’s spark skip a spin. What happened next made it skip several. A gasp flew from his vocalizer as Lockdown’s glossa laved his valve lips, running along the pliable mesh, and teasing the small bot’s anterior node. Prowl jerked with a noise, mouth agape as he watched, unable to tear his gaze away from Lockdown’s own. Hands squeezed and fingers stroked his thighs as that glossa got a taste of him, and all Prowl could do was grip the soft material of the berth and whimper as each new sensation overwhelmed his processor.

Then that wicked glossa slid inside him.

“Nnh!” Prowl mewled, head falling back and breaking his optic contact, hips jumping as the appendage pushed deep into him. Prowl writhed. His spike hardened instantly, weeping as nodes deep within him were teased and touched, sending bolt of lightning pleasure throughout his frame.

Lockdown’s grip tightened and he pushed his glossa even deeper, curling and stroking the incredibly hot depths of the little ninjabot. Lubricant flowed freely, and he lapped it up, aware this mech tasted sweeter than any bot had a right to, and later he might wonder why. Right now he only wanted more. He shifted one hand so he could reach for the throbbing anterior node begging to be abused. He obliged.

“Ahh!” Prowl cried, hips lurching as concentrated bliss stunned him. “Lockdown!”

Oh that sounded perfect from the ninjabot’s vocalizer. He would hear it many times tonight. To reward him Lockdown pressed his face even closer and _hummed_.

Prowl met his second overload of the night with a lush moan. When he came to his senses after what felt like being run over in a _very_ pleasing way, he was immediately shunted into a heightened state of arousal to the sight and feel of Lockdown lapping at his lubricant, fingering his node with a supporting hand while simultaneously jerking him off slowly with the other. Prowl groaned, his body alive with sensations.

At his awakening moan, Lockdown stopped, drawing out a disappointed noise from the needy ninjabot. But he was soon face to face again with his partner, and suddenly their mouths were sealed, and he could taste his own lubricant from Lockdown’s skilled glossa. The thought stimulated him even more, and just when he wondered what Lockdown was going to do to him next, a hand glided back down his lithe frame to his valve, and he stuttered into the bounty hunter’s mouth as deft fingers began teasing his node again. But only briefly. They twirled up his lubricant and then pushed into his valve, making him jerk as the coolness met the burning lining of his interior. Two fingers felt different to a glossa, and as they began stroking his walls and stretching his channel, he realized _just_ how different. He’d given up trying to modulate his noises, they just kept slipping free regardless.

“Beautiful,” Lockdown mumbled against his lips, keeping his attention split between his double ministrations, soaking up Prowl’s reactions like they were his fuel. He added a third finger, reveling in the little breathy moan it induced.

Prowl’s hips began shifting with his digits, needing more. He tried urging them deeper, pressing into Lockdown’s hand and pleading silently for harder pleasure. The fingers continued their flexing and scissoring, producing a delightful burn but an incessant need. Lockdown pressed a few more strut-shattering kisses to the ninjabot’s panting mouth before moving his position from beside Prowl to above him, removing his slick fingers as he did so. 

Slight clarity returned to him and Prowl gazed up dazedly, looking at the black and white face gazing lustily down at him.

A hand cupped his aft again, angling his hips, and then Lockdown shifted slowly, and something larger than fingers began to slide into his valve. Prowl’s spark skipped yet again and he broke their gaze to look down at his elevated hips, watching Lockdown’s monster spike slowly sinking into his slim frame. He was huge compared to Prowl! Their size difference was so stark that Prowl felt a shock of apprehension.

“S’ok, kid, not gonna hurt yer, remember?”

Dumbly, Prowl nodded, completely trusting Lockdown and unsure just why. He felt every inch of Lockdown’s uniquely shaped spike enter him, every ridge slide through his first ring of calipers and the ever increasing circumference as it glided deeper inside him.

“Relax,” those gravelly vocals soothed, and the arm that he was leaning on moved so the hand could cup his distressed face, thumb rubbing at his cheek. Lips descended onto his, distracting him with rough kisses and nips.

Prowl whimpered softly and Lockdown stopped sliding into him. Half way. His spike was throbbing with need, but he couldn’t enter Prowl any more until he had thoroughly been loosened. He started a slow rocking rhythm, needing to rekindle Prowl’s shied arousal. He pressed his lips to the smooth column of the bot’s neck cable, scraping his denta along the surface and flicking his glossa after.

Soon Prowl was rocking with him, returning his kisses again and driving his own hands across Lockdown’s appreciative plating. It didn’t take long for the fire to roar again, and eventually, inch by inch, after a third overload, Lockdown’s hips pressed flush to Prowl’s, fully hilted and straining to rut. He held firm and savored both of their amazement, even Lockdown hadn’t been sure he could fit. But Prowl was young, and his protoform was extremely adaptive.

“So full,” Prowl murmured, drunk on carnal bliss.

“So tight,” Lockdown added, licking his neck and drawing out an agreeable hum.

They rocked together, testing their fitting, feeling their joining. Lockdown remained buried until he was sure Prowl’s valve had configured around him, only then withdrawing slowly. That motion alone provoked a delighted hum from Prowl as interior nodes caught each ridge. Apprehension was almost gone. Lockdown would hump it away completely.

With the next push in Prowl’s hum escalated to a moan, and he dropped his head back into the pillow, savoring the stretch to his valve as it was filled once again.

Neither of them had much more self-control to maintain the pace. Moments later Lockdown was surging into Prowl with ease, the slim body accepting him eagerly. Neither of them concerned with anything but the chase of pleasure now. Prowl was completely lost to the ecstasy, the spike slammed into the top of his valve, jabbing his ceiling node and sending shock after shock of pure rapture through his systems, banishing his sense of decorum and lucidity. He clung to Lockdown’s neck as the large mech curled around him, powerful thrusts jerking their frames with increasing speed.

Overload struck them like a stun from a blaster. Prowl’s framed spasmed first with a cry of Lockdown’s name, arching taut as his valve clenched almost painfully around the thick intrusion, so tight his lubricant spurted from his valve lips. The cataclysm to Lockdown’s overload, he clutched Prowl firmly as his hips locked into the ninjabot’s and he shot his load into the small, twitching body, filling him full. 

In reaction Prowl gasped, exhausted frame lurching as he felt his belly full to bursting, overcome with yet another, smaller overload as tremors wracked his body.

Lockdown managed to collapse them both side by side, still seated fully inside the ninjabot, hips still locked together, rocking slowly as he rode out his climax. He shifted Prowl’s pinned leg so it wasn’t digging into him, and finally let the lull of overload haze claim him, let himself submerge into a satisfying doze while cracking his optics just enough to watch his very tired and very debauched partner snooze too. Kid had just had his fifth overload, impressive, but not his last. A pervy smirk twisted his faceplace; he had plenty of things to do to Prowl, if only they had more than one night.

A few quiet, recovering minutes later he rumbled deeply in his chest, nudged his hips, and kneaded the ninjanot’s waist with enough pressure to rouse him. 

A noise escaped and Prowl’s visor brightened from its dim setting. He exhaled a vent as feelings and sensations returned to him. “Oh,” he keened, valve fluttering around Lockdown’s spike, making him grunt. He trailed a hand down to his belly and placed his palm there, his visor widening and his faceplates darkening. “Is that normal?” He whispered.

Lockdown directed his gaze to the hand of Prowl’s belly and noticed with a rush of prideful arousal he had pumped so much into the kid his slim plating had swelled. His spike twitched with renewed excitement as he pushed Prowl’s hand out the way and stroked the small bulge. 

“Pretty much, for our differences,” Lockdown assured him with a grin. “Been a while for me so yer got a full reservoir in there.”

He slid his hand to Prowl’s tank and drew him closer, nuzzling and nipping Prowl into reciprocation. He felt the ninjabot’s legs tighten either side of his waist and his hip rolled experimentally, evoking a deep hum from the little chassis.

“Feels so strange,” he mumbled into Lockdown’s neck. “So full… So hot.”

Primus, the kid was gonna send him to the well by words alone. He was fully hard now, no doubt shifting the volume inside the two-wheeler’s chamber if the grunt was anything to go by. He wondered if Prowl’s adaptive little frame would accept more, but even he was unwilling to risk it.

With some experienced maneuvering, Lockdown was on his feet with the ninjabot’s wrapped around his waist with a disoriented grunt, still joined.

“Time to check out the solvents,” Lockdown smirked.

The wash racks were spacious and lavish, different waxes, polishes, solutions and shampoos sat in large, decorative dispensers along one wall under the many showerheads, but neither mechs cared. Lockdown’s background programs did a cursory sweep as usual but he was too busy battling glossas with Prowl to actively notice it. He fumbled with the faucets and they were quickly drenched in warm solvents.

“Couldn’t come here without doing it in the wash racks,” the bounty hunter sniggered, biting Prowl’s neck who returned it with his own. “Gotta empty yer before I can fill yer again.” And with that he lifted the ninjabot, slid from his snug valve and set him down on unsteady pedes.

Prowl moaned headily as the rush of transfluid trickled out of him in copious amounts, feeling incredibly self-conscious as Lockdown knelt and watched with lust-filled optics, spike swelling at the sight. He pulled the bot to him and snaked a hand down to feel the last drips from between Prowl’s thighs.

“Might have to repeat that sometime,” he promised in his audial. He captured Prowl’s lips and rose to his pedes, lifting Prowl as he did and pressing him into the wall. With ease he slid into the ninjabot’s slick valve just as he locked his legs around Lockdown’s waist.

“Nnnngh,” Prowl moaned, feeling the full stretch in one pleasurable slide. They immediately set to a slow, steady pace, the sound of the solvent muffling their grunts and the slide of plating. Hands gripped and rubbed at Lockdown’s neck spikes, making the large mech rumble as rods of pleasure radiated through him. Prowl had learned quickly.

Their slow pace soon increased into a hard, fast tempo, the slick sound of spike sliding into sopping valve escaped neither of them, fueling their ardor. They lasted only slightly longer, finishing with tense, sharp moans.

Lockdown’s vents hummed away as he held them both there for a second before sinking down to his knees, Prowl in his lap, still hilted. His visor was dim with fatigue, half-offline. Lockdown nuzzled him awake.

“More?” Prowl murmured, still dazed. His frame was adjusting to the new energy usage.

“Yer’ve only screamed my name twice,” Lockdown growled softly. “I promised yer a night of senseless interfacing, I always deliver.”

Prowl shuddered into awareness as the spike within him shifted. With a sudden burst of confidence, Prowl pushed at the large chest in front of him, urging Lockdown onto his back on the wet floor. Solvents rained around them.

“Then screw me senseless,” he demanded thickly, feeling the spike inside swell at his very words.

Lockdown grinned, gripping Prowl’s hips. He had never obeyed so willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little more to this prompt which will be continued in the next chapter.


	3. Bar 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous prompt.

//

A warm body was a nice reminder to wake up to, Lockdown thought to himself. His systems onlined in their usual speedy, fight-ready fashion, but he let himself revel in the comfy groove he’d indented into the soft berth, and the thoroughly had little ninjabot pressed into his front, dead to the world and most likely out for a while yet. 

Unless…

Lockdown trailed his hands along the warm plating, applying pressure in firm, stroking waves, listening for the tell-tale hum of sleeping systems rousing from their deep void, onlining necessary senses. Lockdown kept up his caresses, smirking softly as Prowl’s unlit visor brightened. He was sluggish; they had interfaced into the early hours of the morning, and for a bot who was not used to it, Prowl’s frame probably wanted nothing more than to recharge until the next night. But it was late morning, and Lockdown would have to leave later that day to drop off his stolen goods and collect his bounty. He wanted more time with this kid, Primus help him he actually wanted the morning company with this one.

A tired thrum of awakening systems brought Prowl the rest of the way out of blissful recharge. He shifted under Lockdown’s ministrations and a sleepy grunt escaped him. He buried his face between the bounty hunter’s chest and berth, as if trying to press himself back into the warm nothingness of slumber. A rumbly chuckle tickled his audial and very insistent touches brought out a snigger of his own.

“You’re insatiable,” Prowl murmured, too amused to be annoyed that he’d been dragged from a much needed recharge.

“Maybe yer just too damn hot,” Lockdown replied, rocking his increasingly warm plating into Prowl’s in a successful attempt to activate the kid’s interface drive.

The ninjabot was soon responding, with a playful if somewhat sleepy, begrudging smile and a field that was quickly becoming saturated with lust, helped along by the stimulating hands groping his frame. Their spikes slid out almost at the same time, and with a little shuffling to line them up, they were both humming in pleasure and thrusting against each other, Prowl’s hand wrapped around them with Lockdown’s larger one wrapped around his.

“Feel like yer drive me crazy,” Lockdown mumbled into the top of his partner’s head, enjoying the little shivers of reaction his vocals produced. “Don’t remember being with anyone who got me so worked up.”

“Flatter.”

Lockdown chuckled, hips jerking in a controlled manner against the small ninjabot. The feel of the kid’s palm gripping his spike was so good, he had to wonder if it was some unique plating texture or the fact that Prowl felt unidentifiably special in a way he couldn’t describe. Maybe it was a first’s thing.

Prowl reached his overload, and it trigged Lockdown’s only a second after; they both shuddered as they released over each other’s hand, plating and berth. Prowl sagged into Lockdown’s chest, tiny shivers running through his body as he rocked his fading overload from their hands. He was barely given time for his processor to collect itself before Lockdown found his lips and was kissing him hot and hard, with enough force to nearly send Prowl back into the disoriented fog of climax. 

His lines gradually lit up in renewed arousal, enflamed by Lockdown’s sheer, persistent lust. With a burst of impulsiveness, Prowl hutched into a better position, lips pulling away to push Lockdown from his side onto his spikey back, rolling with the grace of a ninja to straddle the large bounty hunter’s waist, semi-erect spike poking at his aft.

“This is a good view of you,” Lockdown smirked up at him, content with the warm weight of the kid right over his array. Hands automatically readjusted Prowl’s legs so they wouldn’t be in risk of catching his hip spikes, before roaming up to squeeze fondly at the tiny waist. Still amazed that last night he was inside the kid. So slim.

“And of you,” Prowl replied wryly. A slight smirk graced his features as he starting grinding his closed panel against Lockdown’s plating, drawing out an approving rumble. “I hope your pursuers don’t burst in here before I can take you again.”

“Pits, kid,” Lockdown grunted, his spike pressurizing to the combination of actions and words. Gone was the initial hesitation of a first-timer, Prowl was running just as hot and eager just as easily as he was. “Anyone that bursts in here and stops yer doing what yer doing is gonna find themselves in two halves.” And then his lust-addled brain caught up to the kid’s concern. “They won’t find us, hundreds of hotels in this city, and they would expect me to have left the planet as soon as I could.”

Prowl’s teasing movements never faltered. “Will they be able to recognize me?”

Lockdown’s hands tightened comfortingly. “Unlikely, kid. But yer’ve had nothing to do with my bounty, they can’t charge yer with anything.”

Prowl tilted his head just slightly. “Bounty. You’re a bounty hunter?”

“Yup.”

“I guess that explains why you’ve been to so many planets,” the ninjabot reasoned. He was caught off guard as Lockdown bucked his hips, forcing a hiccup from Prowl’s vocalizer.

“What about yer bar buddy?” Lockdown grinned, his swollen spike grazing the small of the ninjabot’s back. “He ain’t gonna bust in here, see me having my wicked way with yer and go nuts, is he? ‘S he a ninjabot, too?”

Prowl’s body arched at the feel of pre-fluid on his back, valve panel sliding open as another flush of heat swept through him. “He is,” he replied, reaching back hestitantly to give a few experimental and tormenting strokes to the hard spike. Lockdown jerked into his grasp. “But he’d call first, burst in after.”

Lockdown wasn’t usually up for in-depth conversation during interfacing, but he had landed himself a ninjabot, and they were a mysterious, evasive breed. He couldn’t help himself.

“Ninjabot working in a club?” Even as he asked, he impeded the answer by trailing a hand lower on the bot’s hips and brushing a thumb over the enticing little anterior node begging for some attention.

“Mh,” Prowl jerked, hands clenching and unclenching on Lockdown’s torso, mind swirling with climbing heat. Lockdown repeated and his little partner was suddenly putty in his hands, twitching with every roll of the bounty hunter’s thumb. He was pretty sensitive. Hot as slag. “O-owes a friend a favor,” he managed to get out.

Interesting. Unless it was a cover. Regardless, Lockdown’s interest in conversation had suddenly been overthrown by the rapidly escalating desire to get inside the ninjabot _now_. Twisting his hand around, he nudged his fingers at the slick heat of Prowl’s valve, savoring the needy gasp and eager jerk of hips. The kid was wet and ready for him, his own smaller spike stabbing the air with every little movement. It took a great deal of restraint not to lift him up and penetrate him right then. 

He worked his fingers into the clenching channel quickly, knowing that Prowl would still be fairly giving from last night’s vigorous rounds. Lockdown was rewarded with an encouraging moan and tilting hips trying to take in his digits further. The feel of the soft-lined walls clutching his fingers sent bolts of pleasure through his hand, down his arm and right down to his now painfully swollen spike. When he began scissoring his fingers and Prowl’s hand gripped his own, pushing insistently with small, desperate noises, Lockdown very nearly painted the kid’s back with his load. Every sound he uttered made Lockdown feel like an inexperienced youth who was excited far too easily.

“Now,” Prowl rasped, visor almost offline, lips parted in unfocused enjoyment.

Lockdown growled in agreement and removed his slicked fingers, reaching around to slather his spike just before the ninjabot was grasping for it. Needy little thing.

He helped guide the small frame up and over his spike, not that he needed much guiding, he knew where he was going. Still, it was oddly endearing to see the kid fumble with a shaky hand, positioning himself with trembling thighs, and ease the tip of Lockdown’s spike into himself with the slow, hesitant flush of someone realizing their control in this position for the first time. Lockdown kneaded the tiny waist reassuringly, straining against the urge to slam his hips upwards.

Slowly, segment by segment, Prowl slid down the solid length, thighs trembling as his valve was filled slowly. Lubricant sluiced down the spike, aiding his effort until he paused to adjust, two thirds down.

“Kid, yer so slagging hot,” Lockdown grunted, grip fitted around the small waist. “So tight, even after all that fragging last night.” He hissed as the vice-like grip around his spike constricted in reaction to his words. He was trying very hard to restrain himself.

With a lewd, wet noise Prowl slid down the rest of the way, aft meeting hips. He gasped softly as the huge spike pushed at the top of his valve. Throbbing inside him. He savored the aching stretch as his large partner twitched in anticipation beneath him, until the ache became a burning need, and with a little lift, he rose just barely and sank back down.

“Damn, Prowl,” Lockdown groaned, spike straining painfully. “Teasing little glitch.”

A chuckle escaped him, and Prowl repeated the action, barely able to restrain himself, too. When he was sure he wouldn’t harm himself, he rocked experimentally and they both moaned in pleasure. Head thrown back, hands braced on the green chest, Prowl continued, nudging the thick spike inside him, pressing it against freshly discovered nodes within his valve and sending shocks of pleasure radiating through his array. Lockdown’s hips grinded into his motions, pushing his spike that much further inside.

“Pits,” Lockdown cursed, grip alternating pressure around the ninjabot’s waist. “Yer so slagging hot riding me.”

“Feels good,” Prowl gasped quietly, almost lost in the addicting bliss. Lubricant was pooling over Lockdown’s plating, each rock of Prowl’s hips gave a lascivious sound.

“C’mon, kid,” Lockdown growl thickly, lifting him just enough to suggest a tempo change. “Work me harder.”

Spurred on, Prowl shot tiny smirk at his large partner and ground down one last, teasing time, before bracing his weight on his palms and rising almost completely. The slide down made them both moan, and after a couple more slow rises and falls, restraint broke, and Prowl was soon bouncing vigorously, and nothing but the chase of his overload was going to slow him down. He made a gorgeous sight, riding Lockdown’s spike for all its worth, small mouth gaping as moans fled freely. The visual alone would entertain Lockdown for months to come.

Prowl once again reached his peak first, slamming his pert little aft down with a squelching clang, thighs gripping with deceptively strong power as he threw his head back and overloaded _hard_.

Lockdown cursed as the rippling valve around his spike literally drew out his own overload. He spilled inside the quivering frame as it milked him desperately, hips jerking as aftershocks pumped more into the kid.

Finally, the spell left them and they collapsed down to their struts, jelly limbs and sated processors. Lockdown unclenched his iron grip from Prowl’s waist, sure he put some dents in the tiny bot, and gave his golden tank an approving rub, rumbling in satisfaction.

“Be replaying that one in my future showers,” the bounty hunter mumbled with a wry smile into the neck of his splayed out little partner.

Prowl smiled. “So will I.”

They lay like that for a few recovering minutes, comfortable and tired, still joined and in no hurry to separate. Lockdown danced his fingers across Prowl’s heated plating, listening to their metals cool and their engines hum contently. This was a rare indulgence.

“Yer falling back into recharge?” Lockdown questioned the side of Prowl’s helm.

“Mmh.”

Chuckling, the bit mech shifted his hips, drawing out another moan. “I guess I can letcha rest.”

A slightly sarcastic hum floated from the prone ninjabot, but just a few seconds later he tensed and propped himself onto his elbows, his now visible face a little more alert. He touched his audial.

“Jazz,” he answered his comm. call. “Yes, I’m fine.” He listened a click and then turned his visor on Lockdown. “Maybe…?” Another pause and a look of faint embarrassment edged his face. “I’ll tell you later. Meet you at home. Bye, Jazz.” He cut his comm. and dropped his face back into Lockdown’s neck.

“’Maybe’?” The bounty hunter questioned.

“Jazz asked if I left the club with you, and then he seemed to know. He just knew!” He gave a small chuckle. “He must have put the clues together. I’m never tired this late in the day.”

Lockdown chortled. “Really wore you out, huh?”

“You did,” Prowl admitted fondly. 

“The mech came off as pretty protective of yer,” Lockdown said, feeling uncharacteristically interested. “There a story behind that?”

The quiet that stepped in was a hesitant one, and Lockdown wondered if Prowl would refuse to answer. But then he shifted his head and his fingers curled against his green plating.

“I’m not yet a fully-fledged ninjabot,” he started softly. “I didn’t get to finish my training, because… Master Yoketron was killed.”

Lockdown glanced at what little he could see of the mech’s turned away face, surprised by the news.

“It was only a few days ago,” Prowl continued, slowly, as if he wasn’t yet ready to speak of it but wanted to. “News hasn’t gotten out yet, but it will. Only the Ninja Corps and a few higher ups know.” He paused, as if picturing it. “I wasn’t there when it happened, I was away on an errand he send me on. I found him. He… he was damaged so much.”

Lockdown listened silently. It was clear the ninjabot was still very much affected. From what he’d heard, students lived with their Masters for many years, training. And Masters only take one student at a time. The bond they develop is a family bond. Lockdown understands the pain. Understands, but can’t relate.

“The others all wanted to take me in, but it was decided Jazz would be best, he is the closest brother to me. But he hasn’t had chance yet to set me up with a key to his home.”

“The protectiveness makes sense.”

Prowl nodded. “I can fight beyond what my skill level should be, and have surpassed many of the graduated ninjabots in a specific practice, but I am a lot younger than everyone, they will probably always treat me with over-protectiveness.”

“Specific practice?” Lockdown’s audials perked. What had this young student exceeded older, more experienced ninjabots?

“I can’t say.”

Lockdown shrugged mentally. “Fair enough.” He started stroking the bot’s smooth tank again, feeling the conversation end comfortably. A minute later Lockdown’s internal clock pinged him and he registered the current time with a disappointed sigh. “I got time to rinse off and then I gotta leave.”

A regretful silence fell between them, neither wanting their time to end. Their spilled mess cooled across various parts of them but even the urge to clean wasn’t strong enough to move right away.

“Will you return to Cybertron anytime soon?” Prowl asked quietly, a little muffled against the large mech’s shoulder.

Lockdown’s stilled hand stroked along the golden tank once more and he smiled. “Yeah… Think I gotta reason to visit, now.”

Prowl smiled into his shoulder.

They rose reluctantly and returned to the wash racks, washing quickly but leisurely, trying to avoid riling each other up yet again. It was far too soon when they had finished and were leaving the hotel together. They stopped a few corners away.

Hook back in pace of his second hand, Lockdown snagged the smaller bot’s waist and drew him in for what he would convince himself was a casual smooch.

“Be seeing you sometime, kid,” he said by way of farewell. Lockdown didn’t do goodbyes, and certainly never stuck around long enough to see someone out of their hotel room.

Prowl smiled. “Hold you to that.”

The bounty hunter grinned and within seconds he was gone.

Prowl stared at the corner he had disappeared behind, feeling a disappointing loss alongside a warm, satisfying contentment. Maybe he would never see Lockdown again, but they had both greatly enjoyed their one night, and Prowl would be happy with the memories.

Now to return home to Jazz, and the curious questions about his mysterious, one-night berth partner.


	4. Lost in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown and Prowl get lost in metal woods.
> 
> Part of my challenge for this prompt collection was to try and write short prompt-responses, which I'm still working on, but I consider this one an achievement to that at least.

“How the frag did we get so turned around in this Pit’s forsaken forest?” Lockdown spat angrily, glaring at the fog encumbering their return to the ship. Tall dark trunks of metallic trees sprouted all around, looming over them.

“We rushed in without thinking,” Prowl answered methodically, carving a marker into the metal of a trunk, with a shard of crystal. “We were relying on our signal to get through this interference.” He glanced skyward, but all that looked down at him was the dull, thick fog obscuring the metal canopy above. “The air pressure is increasing,” he added quietly, reluctant to announce the bad news.

Lockdown hissed a curse, turning a glare at the hidden sky. “Try again.”

Prowl didn’t even nod. He activated his boosters and ascended into the fog above, hand shielding his head. Through the haze it came into contact with the jagged network of metal canopy. It was patchy, but metal like this was incredibly tough to break through. Even Lockdown’s blaster fire hadn’t broken through. The gaps in the web-like formations weren’t big enough for Prowl to fit, but the further they walked the bigger the gaps seemed to be getting. Hopefully he could find a spot very soon where he could slip through and rise above this nightmare forest. The Death’s Head would be a welcome sight when he did.

However, luck seemed to be as elusive as the Prowl-shaped gaps. A heavy droplet fell from the foggy sky above onto Prowl’s helm, and he hissed as the stinging acid ate a shallow mark into his plating.

“Prowl?” Lockdown’s voice floated from below, edged with concern.

The ninjabot quickly reduced his boosters and dropped steadily back to his partner. He landed with a thud on the rough metal ground, rubbing in futile at the sting. Lockdown’s hands were already pushing his own out the way, inspecting the mark.

“It’s starting to rain,” Prowl said gravely, meeting his optics. 

A loud _drip_ turned their attention and they watched with growing horror as a raindrop settle on the ground.

“C’mon,” Lockdown growled, literally dragging his smaller partner at a hurried pace – a pace that Prowl had to run to keep up with. He seemed set on a direction behind their original path, and Prowl knew he was aiming for the rocky faces they had come across earlier. They were impossible to scale but there had been several overhanging slabs and boulders.

Rain started to patter around them. Ominous sounds of impending agony.

And then it _poured_.

The pain of so many acid stings faltered Prowl’s steps as his receptors were bombarded. Before much damage could be caused Lockdown had whisked him from the ground and held him to his abdomen planting, hunching over him as best as he could as his long legs sprinted across the uneven ground, around the streaming trees.

“Lockdown, your planting –”

“Can it, kid,” Lockdown grit, denta barred in pain as the rain streamed down his back. “My plating’s a lot denser than yours. When we get out you’re getting upgraded.”

Prowl watched the ground fly by under Lockdown’s pedes, curling his own up so they didn’t get in his way. The rain caught his own, but he suppressed his noises and clung to the arm wrapped around him, trying not to think of the damage being done to his lover’s plating.

The ground was soon pooling with acidic rain. Lockdown couldn’t avoid all the puddles, and the splash sent even more harmful liquid splattering against them. 

Soon the big mech’s venting labored, unable to stay silent any longer against the torturous pain scouring off his plating. Prowl prayed with each step that the rocky cliff was just in front of them, through the fog. Prayed there’d be somewhere to shelter. Every Cybertronian has a nightmare of being caught in acid rain and eaten down to a pitted corpse. The nightmare was becoming a reality.

“_There_,” Lockdown’s strained vocals rasped, almost lost to the patter of rain.

Emerging from the fog as they approached was the sheer rock cliffs they had followed along a ways back. Prowl scanned his vision desperately across the rocks, looking for something that would –

“To your west!” Prowl called, jabbing his finger into the downpour to point out the black shadows of a hollow in the rocks. Acid shaved of the top layers of his metal, carving rivulets into his arm.

Lockdown had already turned and teared across the puddled ground towards it, bursting into the cave that was just shy of his height. He scraped his black and white head on the ceiling as he threw himself and Prowl into the shelter, landing in a controlled sprawl as not to crush his smaller half.

They lay there, pained and shook as the rain continued. Their shelter was more a fortunate hollow created from fallen and leaning rocks than it was a carved cave, allowing rain to drizzle down the surfaces of a couple of slabs. Luckily they were on the edges of the hollow, and the rain drained away from them.

Prowl grimaced as his pain receptors related all manner of stings and burns, but he pushed himself up to crawl closer to his venting partner. Laying on his front, his back was on display; Prowl stared in alarm.

Energon streamed down his bulk onto the ground were the rain had continuously pounded at his back. It had eaten away lines of plating, some wounds so deep they had reached Lockdown’s energon lines. His hood spikes were melted to misshapen stumps and his tail coats were just tatters. The backs of his legs were scarred, but the soles of his pedes were horrendous; all the splashing through acid puddles had eaten away at the protective plating. His internal workings were barely functional, energon bled from his feet. It amazed Prowl how he had managed to run at all.

“Think you’re going to need a medic,” Prowl jested quietly, already retrieving his subspace medical kit and wondering just where the frag to start. He moved to the wound bleeding the most.

“You _are_ my medic, kid,” Lockdown murmured into the ground, his vocals strained in pain.

“I can’t grow your feet back, and neither can your self-repair,” Prowl answered, keen to engage in conversation so he wouldn’t let his thoughts linger on how worried and horrified he was. Lockdown had been injured plenty of times, but usually injuries were localized to an area, the rain had hit every possible body part, and was so concentrated it was still burning. Prowl had nothing to wash it down.

He did his best on the worst areas, clamping energon lines, cleaning the wounds as best as possible and applying the medkit’s entire supply of medical nanites where they were needed the most. But there just weren’t enough supplies in the kit to attend the full extent of the damage, and Prowl’s spark jerked in worry. He injected the only pain blocker into Lockdown’s tough, scared neck, stowed the completely empty kit away and just… stared.

“Yer’ve seen…worse,” Lockdown panted. The pain had crept past the ebbing burst of adrenaline* and now he was biting back groans, gritting his teeth and trying his damnest not to writhe in agony while waiting for the pain blocker to kick in.

“Not to this extent,” Prowl argued softly, ignoring his own, far lesser pain while he watched his partner’s torn plating shift with every move he tried not to make. A thought occurred to him and a decision was made within the space of a second, and Prowl readjusted his position into a kneel. He held out his palms over Lockdown’s mangled back and concentrated.

“Whatcher doin’?” Lockdown hissed, fists clenched and unclenching against the ground.

“I’m going to try and manipulate your energies in an effort to help you heal faster,” Prowl answered, dimming his visor.

Lockdown pressed his twisted, white face against the ground, elbows braced either side, shoulder joints jutting up in what couldn’t have been good for his ruined plating. “Yer remember how to do that processor stuff?”

Prowl was silent for a few seconds. “Yes. It’s not something you can forget, now hush.”

Lockdown snorted.

The shelter fell silent between the two save for the rain pummeling the forest and the occasional grunts of pain that slipped from the bounty hunter’s restraint. Prowl moved slowly, skimming his hands along the air above his partner, feeling the broken and weakening energy flow, redirecting what he could, what he remembered from his lessons, borrowing from his own in a bid to augment Lockdown’s worrying supply. Eventually, the labored moans ceased, the pain blockers – doubled with Prowl’s diligent efforts – took away the worst of the discomfort and Lockdown’s tense, shivering frame finally relaxed.

When Prowl withdrew his hands, ending his energy manipulation some time later, his own frame sagged with fatigue and low energy. He had transferred what he could, hindering his own healing, but it was a move he didn’t think twice on. He only hoped it would help.

Turned his tired visor on his partner’s face, he allowed a small flare of relief at the sleeping giant. He shuffled himself onto his side and pressed as near as he dared against the scars on Lockdown’s side, resting his own head close. He watched the large mech recharge a few seconds longer and then offlined his visor.

The two injured mechs slept amidst the roar of the rain outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Anyone suggest a robo version of adrenaline?


	5. Stray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl swings by a new energon shop in the next neighborhood and on his way back stumbles over an unconscious, bloodied mech. Against his better judgement, he brings the mech home...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been daydreamed into something I couldn't classify as a short story anymore, but I want to continue it alongside other AUs.

“You get going now, Prowl. The rain’s coming.”

The shop door slid open and the little bell dinged as the two-wheeler bid his goodbye to the shop keeper, a selection of new energon flavors tucked into subspace. He smiled briefly at the friendly warning before turning his gaze past the tops of the tall Iaconian buildings. The sky was dark and moody, getting darker and moodier by the second. Rain had been warned earlier, but it seemed to have approached on swifter winds than predicted. The narrow residential street was quiet and still; everyone had retreated indoors already.

Prowl set off at a brisk pace back to his apartment. Road lights and building illuminations helped guide him back to his usual streets, as this was a special detour; he couldn’t find those energon flavors anywhere else. And he really liked them. When the new shop opened up a few weeks ago he had chanced a deviation to check it out. He had been pleasantly surprised. This area was fairly new to him, but he had memorized the most convenient route from his apartment complex.

As they were when he was usually out and about, his extra sensitive audials caught a sound that was suspiciously out of place in the deserted, dimly lit street, and he faltered in step, raising his gaze from the path to the dark passage to his right. His optics immediately locked onto the ground.

Energon. Puddles of bright, vivid energon glowing like a beacon in the black shadows.

Another sound. Something rolled out from the darkness and tumbled onto its side from behind a large dumpster.

Prowl looked at the object that had rolled into the light. A full cylinder of medical patches. He lifted his gaze to the spot it had come from.

Nothing moved.

No sound.

Prowl’s visor narrowed but brightened in caution as he moved warily into the passageway, pede steps silent. He trod slowly, braced for anything – a baiting mugger maybe – to leap out at him (although Primus help them if they did). The energon blood guided his gaze around the dumpster to its origin, and as Prowl edged into view, he paused in surprise and stopped.

On the ground sprawled a bleeding mech. A _large_ bleeding mech who appeared to be gravely injured. And unmoving.

Prowl quickly scanned the end of the passage as well as he could, finding no attacker or immediate danger. Only then did he crouch down, pressing a palm to the injured mech’s back. The energies were incredibly weak and fading, but he was alive. Prowl assessed the damage. It was extensive, fatal if he didn’t receive help. There seemed to be all kinds of damage across his strange, mismatched frame. Spikes adorned his plating in various places – but his face captured Prowl’s attention like an ember in the dark. Tilting his jaw, Prowl turned the mech’s head to the side. Stark white with black marks. Weird, menacing even. But curious. Prowl stared.

A _drip_ disrupted the pooled energon surrounding the mech and the ripple started to hiss. Prowl quickly craned his neck back to find angry, thick clouds blanketing the sky directly overhead. The rain had arrived.

_//Ratchet,//_ He activated an emergency comm., giving the medic no time to reply. _//I need you at my apartment asap, I’ve found an injured mech who’s about to gutter very soon.//_ He sent visual captures of the wounds so Ratchet could best prepare.

_//On my way,//_ was the immediate, professional response. _//What did you do, Prowl?//_

Prowl grabbed the cylinder of medical patches and did his best to wrap up the worst of the injuries on the damaged mech. _//I didn’t do anything!//_ he replied defensively, sounding a little too much like the younger bot he was despite the slight teasing tone in the medic's vocals. _//I’m a few streets away, this mech has been through something bad.//_

He could almost feel the pause on the comm. line. _//You wanna pick up a complete stranger and bring him to your home? Whatever or whoever did that might be hanging close by waiting to finish him off, that doesn’t look like any accidental damage, Prowl.//_

_//You know emergency services won’t come out in the rain, my place is the closest option.//_

Another pause. _//How’re you gonna get a mech that size to your apartment?//_

Another _drip_, and another. Prowl stood. _//You know how.//_

Then it rained.

//

It took far longer than Prowl had expected for Ratchet to work on the stranger now taking up the entirety of his berth. Prowl played assistant for many hours, aid to his friend-slash-family member as the injured mech almost offlined twice at their busied servos. Ratchet was having none of it, stranger or no, he accepted no failures. That, and the stranger’s spark was apparently very stubborn for a dying mech and was _also_ having none of it.

Sometime later, when the rain was thrumming hard outside, Ratchet injected the last of the healing nanites (his entire supply for a mech this size and this injured) and stepped back on his heels.

“He’s in for a pit of a recovery,” the medic said, taking a cloth and wiping the energon from his hands. He passed it to Prowl. “I couldn’t replace half of that mess in there, so it’s down to his self-repair now that I’ve set everything back into place. Patches and repair nanites will aid it, but the damage extent will make it a _long_ recovery.” He looked pointedly at Prowl. “Now he’s stuck here for days. Let’s hope he stays unconscious until the rain stops. If I were you I’d call the hospital when it does and get them to lug his aft away. Let him be their problem.”

Prowl rubbed away the energon from his hands slowly, staring at the slumbering mech half hanging from the small berth. They had extended it as much as it would go, but it wasn’t quite enough to support the stranger’s long legs and big feet. Ratchet had medical berth extensions, he had promised to bring and install one when he returned later. Luckily they lived in the same apartment complex. A decision they and the rest of their family unit had made when they had returned to Iacon. 

“I suppose that would be the ideal course of action,” Prowl responded thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the huge mech. Stood up he would be taller than even Optimus. Maybe Bulkhead’s height. There was something chilling about the black and white face, but so very intriguing. Was he formed with that face? Did he add black markings to make himself more intimidating? Prowl was so curious.

“His name’s Lockdown, by the way,” Ratchet’s voice broke his stupor. The medic was watching him, catching his inquisitive stare. “Didn’t really have time to relate his info, but I accessed his basic stats when I was plugged in. He has _very_ aggressive protection, even in _his_ state – _and_ to my medical ID. But for good reason: He’s a bounty hunter.”

Prowl’s visor brightened in surprise and looked back at the mech called Lockdown. “I’ve never seen a bounty hunter before.”

“That’s a _good_ thing,” Ratchet told him. “From what I’ve heard they’re mean, tough glitches. Ain’t many that make it as big time bounty hunters. And if my memory banks are correct, I’ve heard the name Lockdown before, a few millennia ago, which means this guy is not some big-shot wannabe, he’s been in the game a long time. So it begs the question, who in Primus took him out? And should we be worried?”

Prowl considered. “I made sure we didn’t leave an energon trail, and I didn’t sense anyone in the immediate vicinity. But I’ll engage the maximum security setting on the door lock tonight.”

Ratchet scowled in a Ratchet-only concerned way. “I’ll be happier when he’s outta here. I’ll bring a medical cot and kip here tonight anyway.”

It made sense; the patient was in critical condition even if he was currently stable. Prowl knew the old bot’s protective coding was kicking in, though. Despite his grouchy attitude, Ratchet – like the rest of their family unit – had naturally developed protective coding towards each other. Even though the bounty hunter was dead to the world, and likely dead to it many days yet, he was a threat to Prowl’s safety (_despite_ the little ninja’s potent ability to defend himself).

Ratchet left shortly after to fetch the berth extensions and his portable cot, installing the extensions and resettling their mammoth guest now he could comfortably sprawl out at full limb length. Ratchet checked his vitals and set up a collection of small medical monitors he had brought back with him. It would be easier to assess his progress on the screens than plugging into his medical port each time.

“Do bounty hunters seek civilian medical care when they’re hurt?” Prowl asked curiously as he helped with the extensions and watched the screen setups. “They seem segregated from the facilities of civilization.”

The medic didn’t look up from his inspection of Lockdown’s vitals. “They’re paranoid and extremely mistrusting of anyone and everyone,” he answered, tapping a few buttons. “From what I know, some stories I’ve heard from other medics, they learn enough medical knowledge themselves so they don’t have to seek external aid.” He straightened up and readjusted the thick mesh blanket over his patient. “When they really have to, I suppose in cases like this, they have their own private medical contacts.”

Prowl stared at his new guest again, processor fixating on the mysterious, no-doubt perilous life their bounty hunting patient must lead. And again, his visor strayed to the mech’s unique black and white face. 

Ratchet’s engine gave a meaningful cough, pulling Prowl’s attention to him. The medic had a cocked eye ridge and a questioning set to his mouth.

“Never seen you take an interest in someone,” he stated, crossing his arms in a manner that suggested pending disapproval. “You’ve been staring at him with that curious field since we got him.”

“It’s not an _interest_,” Prowl denied, looking away like a sullen sparkling accused of something embarrassing. “I’ve just never seen a bounty hunter.”

“Uh huh,” Ratchet said flatly, not fooled. “Don’t get attached, kid. He’ll be in recharge during his stay and you won’t ever have to find out how much of a complete slagger bounty hunters are.” He turned to leave the berthroom, unfolding his arms and signaling Prowl to follow. “I get it, he’s something new, but trust me, better you don’t get to know him at all.”

Prowl knew Ratchet was right. As he set about making Ratchet’s preferred energon drink and one for himself, he told himself it was good that their unexpected guest wouldn’t be around long enough to make introductions. He didn’t want an aft-head bounty hunter freaking out in his small habsuite and trying to kill him. Or worse, rob him (Prowl didn’t have many credits). But in his spark he was disappointed. He wanted to learn about this mech Lockdown very much, and he couldn’t even figure out why. Something about him _lured_ Prowl’s interest like a symbiote to their host’s call.

They set up Ratchet’s portable cot, and Prowl took his place on his own couch with his spare mesh sheet, both ready for light recharge, prepared in the event of a spark crash or medical alarm from the assorted monitors attached to their critical patient.

Prowl wirelessly turned off his apartment lights, and within seconds Ratchet was in light recharge. It took longer for Prowl to settle his processor, but eventually the deviation from his usual sleeping arrangement, and the presence of a strange spark signature in his home no longer niggled his processor, and he slipped into light recharge. 

If he had flashes of a white, tattooed face in his sleep he wouldn’t remember them come morning.


	6. Stray 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the Stray prompt.

Ratchet remained in Prowl’s habsuite for the next five days, keeping a close watch on the injured bounty hunter as he shifted away from the clutches of the Well of Allspark, and settled into a stable condition much faster than expected for someone with such damage. Ratchet voiced his grumbly surprise each day, monitoring his progress closely.

“Whatever new guts he acquired seem to be doing him good,” he said on the morning on the fifth day. “There’re some things in there that I haven’t seen before, and no chance in the Pit of replacing – but they’re keeping him alive, so there’s that.”

Perched on the end of his own berth with the giant’s feet at his tank, Prowl watched the medic’s morning check routine, listening to Ratchet mumble Lockdown’s stats to himself. This close, Prowl could feel the unconscious mech’s weak energies slowly strengthening each day. It was his own way of checking on their patient.

The rains had continued relentlessly, and that meant Optimus, Bulkhead and Bumblebee hadn’t returned home. It remained just Ratchet and Prowl. Neither was good at conversation, and with the absence of Bumblebee it had been the quietest five-plus days either of them could remember. It was refreshing in a way, but having been within the unit as closely as they had for as long as they had it was starting to feel lonely. Neither of them would ever admit that, though.

“I could call in a favor,” Ratchet said abruptly, looking up from his monitors to stare into thoughtful space. “It’d probably use up all of 'em, but I think I could convince the hospital to gear up and retrieve him during the rain. They owe me.”

Prowl sighed. Ratchet was concerned the bounty hunter would wake before they could get him out. The ninjabot was secretly hoping he would.

“Don’t vent at me,” Ratchet chided. “Last thing we want is some big aft bounty hunter like him remembering our faces. They don’t play by society rules; if they don’t like you, you can find yourself gone.”

“We saved his life.”

“They’re aftheads, Prowl,” Ratchet emphasized with Ratchet-themed scowl. “If they don’t like so much as a _patch_ job they can get nasty.”

“You’d rather dump that on the hospital?” Prowl questioned wryly, with a touch of seriousness.

“If it was just me here, then no, I wouldn’t,” Ratchet looked back at his monitors, uncomfortable with any sign of affection, vague or blatant. “Look, I did some digging on the datanet… calling Lockdown an afthead was being _nice_.”

Prowl turned his gaze to their patient. “It’s unlikely he’ll be strong enough to do anything, or even be coherent, if he wakes, correct?”

Ratchet paused. “I’m not so sure.” He lifted his hard optics to Prowl. “I had a look at some of his functionality protocols, looks like he’s edited most of it. He could reboot with _all_ systems primed, including weapons, which in his state could lead to panicked rebooting and a hole in your wall. Or frame.”

They stared at one another and both looked down at the bounty hunter.

“I have some patient restraints,” Ratchet said.

“A wise idea,” Prowl nodded. 

//

The seventh day called Ratchet early with a semi-emergency.

“Idiots!” The grumpy medic exclaimed as he rolled off his make-shift cot in Prowl’s living quarters at an offensive time of the morning, and started gathering the tools he’d left out for examining Lockdown. “Some punks thought they could dash through the south sector courtyard and _not_ get wet!”

Prowl winced groggily as Ratchet commanded the lights on, half-rising from his couch as he watched.

“I’ll be a few hours,” Ratchet gruffed, shoving the last of his needed items into his subspace. “If they’re worse off than they made out then I’ll be longer. Keep an eye on Lockdown’s vitals and update me if anything changes.”

With that, Ratchet was out the door and transformed before it had even started closing. Downside to a large complex such as theirs was the distance to each sector. And the amount of idiots in each.

Prowl stared at the door for a few disorientated seconds before commanding the security lock back on and the lights off. It was too early to wake, he had nothing to do except sleep, so sleep he would.

But sleep he didn’t.

Barely ten seconds passed after Prowl killed the lights when something beeped.

Prowl’s visor flickered back on and he lifted his head. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? That was a beep from Ratchet’s monitors. Groaning tiredly, Prowl rolled ungainly off the couch and trudged to his berthroom where the various small screens sprouted from their main stalk at the head of the berth.

With a bit of effort, Prowl focused his vision on the data illuminating the dark room. He knew only the basic readings such as spark resonations, energon and coolant levels etc, so finding no irregularities in those he squinted at the ones he couldn’t read. Nothing was flashing, nothing seemed to have changed drastically. Was it worth comm.ing Ratchet?

Nah.

Tired, Prowl shuffled back to his couch, shimmied under his mesh blanket and found himself sinking into recharge without another thought.

Until a sharp rattle yanked him back to awareness only a minute later.

Prowl’s visor split the darkness, bright and semi-alert as he listened. Another sound. From his berthroom. He looked at the open doorway, completely still, processor sharpening as it quickly rose from its sluggish recharge.

A faint grunt.

Prowl slid quietly from his couch and made his way soundlessly to the door, spark spinning just a little faster.

The bounty hunter’s dark form was unmoving, but the glare from the monitors at this angle didn’t help Prowl’s optical band filter past it very well. He stepped into the room, eyeing one of the monitors now flashing a different number. The spark resonations, it was higher.

Prowl kept his distance, moving away from the screen glares to the side of the berth carefully. He almost jumped when a set of bright red optics lit up in the dark and fixed on him unnervingly.

“Who’a’ you?” A rough, raspy voice demanded, weak with lack of use. The restraints rattled again as he pulled at them, but whatever pistons he braced must have pulled on his injuries because he groaned in pain.

Prowl stared as the slivers of red disappeared briefly, momentarily lost on a response.

“Who the frag are yer?” The bounty hunter rasped again.

“The bot who saved your life,” Prowl answered carefully, wary of his range near the mech’s bound hand. Cuffed or not, Ratchet was very insistent that this breed of Cybertronian wasn’t to be underestimated.

The mech stilled, affixing his gaze back on the ninjabot, though with some difficulty by the looks of it. “Whaddya want?” His voice slurred.

Prowl frowned. “I don’t want anything.”

Lockdown tried to laugh but it barely started before he was choking in agony.

“You were very badly injured,” Prowl offered when the mech’s coughing had eased.

The bounty hunter grit his denta. “Fraggin’… feels like it.”

Prowl might have pressed for some experimental conversation if the mech looked like he could grunt any further words. As it was, Lockdown’s consciousness was short-lived. His strange, white face slowly rolled away as he slipped back into recharge, his systems powering down audibly and his frame slumping down to its struts.

Prowl stood there in the dark, spark spinning with the low-level excitement one might get from talking to a bad ass, albeit half-dead, bounty hunter. His gruff voice replayed in Prowl’s processor, a roughness that didn’t disappoint. 

And then he remembered that it was far too soon for Lockdown to have regained consciousness, despite his rapid climb from the rim of the Well. Even a disorientated, short consciousness. Ratchet had predicted he wouldn’t wake for another few days, and even that was a premature guestimate. 

How soon, then, would it be until Lockdown was strong enough to pose a danger to them?

Prowl didn’t fall back to sleep so easily.


	7. Stray 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Stray. I swear I have other AU ideas.

Iacon, as did all cities on Cybertron, was built to prepare for the long, unrelenting acid rain storms, and as such had opened up its subterranean drain chambers. Storm drains on the streets retracted their protective grates and allowed the streams faster access and less time to flood streets. It was in one of these gaping drains that Idiot Number 3 had carelessly fallen into ‘somehow’, and required Ratchet’s undivided attention.

“Surrounded by idiots,” Ratchet exclaimed on the comm. to Prowl that evening. “Can barely see what color he used to be. That’ll teach him to quit fooling around.”

Prowl winced. He didn’t want to imagine the pain caused by exposure to all that acid rain streaming into the drain. It took plating layers off like water carved through sand, and was not pleasant to even hear of, let alone see. Ratchet was a seasoned medic, he was long since used to casualties like this and often forgot others weren’t.

“So you won’t be back for a couple of days?” Prowl asked, stood at his kitchen counter stirring one of the new energon flavors he’d purchased before the rain.

“Unless the roommate returns, this bot can’t do anything on his own,” the medic groused.

Prowl felt a pang. He used to love solitude, truthfully he still does, but with none of his family unit in the near vicinity, for the next _week_ at least, the loneliness seemed colder.

“How’s our pointy patient doing?” Ratchet enquired.

Prowl set his stirrer down and picked up his glass. “He seems fine, no changes.” No use worrying the medic, he had enough to deal with. Prowl could lie smoothly when he wanted to.

Ratchet grunted a satisfied grunt. “Good. The best thing he can do for us is stay unconscious. But check the restraints periodically… Just in case.”

“I will.”

“And lock your berth room door from the outside at night.”

If Prowl had optics he would have rolled them. “Ratchet, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Well I do, so do it.”

Sigh. “Fine.” A pause passed between them and Prowl decided to steer the conversation back to Ratchet’s work. “Where has your patient’s roommate gone? Will he be able to return?”

“Apparently he’s courting some mech on the west side. This idiot’s got no idea what number she’s at or I’d go and drag the roommate outta there.”

Prowl smiled, rotating his glass of energon idly. He could picture Ratchet doing just that. “Ok, I’ll comm. you if anything changes with Lockdown.”

“Later, kid.”

They cut communication and Prowl was left to his silent apartment and sweet smelling energon. He folded neatly onto his couch, both hands cupping his drink as he activated his entertainment monitor via his internal controls, switching to the news just to see what was happening in the world beyond rainy Iacon. Not much. At least, nothing of interest to Prowl. Very little was ever of interest to Prowl. He switched to another feed while he drank his energon, half listening to the droning of some tv show based somewhere not Cybertron. Prowl had never been to the other planets in the Cybertronian system, and repairing space bridges out in the middle of nowhere was no brag, either. It was likely why he felt so curious about the bounty hunter laid out in his berth room. How many worlds had he been to? How far across the universe had he traveled? He must know hundreds of languages, seen hundreds of species, experienced countless new things...

Envy tugged at Prowl’s spark. It was pointless thinking such things, he would never know that life. He wasn’t sure what his future was, truthfully. The Council and the Ninja Corps were still deciding what to do with an ungraduated Cyberninja who had surpassed every one, past and present, at PoM. The Corps wanted him to finish training and finally join their ranks, the Council wanted to use him for their own means. Until it was decided, Prowl had been allowed to remain with his family unit.

His unwanted musings were jerked to a halt by a sound from his berth room. Prowl listened, picking up the quiet noises of movement.

The bounty hunter was awake again.

Setting down his half-finished energon, Prowl silently moved to his room door and hugged the wall just beyond, listening further to the tiny rustles of the mesh. The restraints clanked. He was testing their give. The noises stopped. 

Cautiously, Prowl peeked around the threshold, edging his visor past the door frame. The bounty hunter was evidently – and rightly – still weak, he could barely lift his head from the pillow, but he was awake and aware, inspecting his surroundings as best as he could.

Gathering himself, Prowl stepped into view, and immediately those red optics were trained on him. Unnervingly alert.

“You’ve regained consciousness quickly for someone in your condition,” Prowl said coolly, remaining in the doorway.

“Who’re you?” The bounty hunter rasped, seizing up from the pain as he engaged frame structures that pulled at his wounds. His contorted face eased before fixing on Prowl again, looking him up and down, sizing him up. Determining his potential threat level.

Prowl paused. He was wary of giving this mech a name, but if he was as resourceful as bounty hunters were claimed to be, he would find out eventually. 

“My name is Prowl.”

Lockdown appeared to be staring, but his optics took on a tell-tale brightness and it was very likely he was searching the local datanet for a matching name. It was all he could access right now, and it wouldn’t give him much information.

“Repair bot for space bridges,” the bounty hunter found, scrutinizing his host up and down again with something like skepticism shaping his optics. “Whaddaya want with me, repair bot?” He demanded, giving the restraints another tug for emphasis.

A little miffed by the address when he had given a name, Prowl paused. Lockdown didn’t seem to remember waking last night.

“I want you to heal and then get out of here,” he replied as though it was obvious.

Lockdown stared at him, a very deep, unsettling gaze for someone prone on a berth, weak as slag. “Hrh. You restrain all of yer house guests?”

“Just the dangerous ones.”

What started as a chuckle and ended in a painful coughing fit broke from the bounty hunter. He settled back down and again turned his optics to Prowl. “Even in this state? I’m flattered,” he drawled. “How did I get here?”

Prowl lent against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I got you here. Just before the rain started.”

Lockdown’s gaze shifted to the circular window on the wall he was against. The sound of the muffled rain settled between them. At least that was a plausible fact to believe.

“You?” The bounty hunter questioned. “On yer own?” His words were saturated with suspicion.

Again, Prowl paused. If he told the truth, the mech would demand how. Bots of Prowl’s build usually had a difficult time lifting anything as big as Lockdown.

“A medic helped me. He patched you back together and saved your life.”

There was a period of silence between them in which Lockdown merely stared at him. Thinking. It made Prowl uneasy.

“Tell me what happened, kid.”

Prowl opened his mouth to start and then frowned. “Kid?” How did this bounty hunter know he wasn’t older than him? Cybertronians were not easy to age-guess.

“Yer spark radiation,” the bounty hunter grunted. “Yer vocalizer oscillations. And yer frame model. Now tell me.”

Was that how medics knew? Prowl never really did understand how some could tell and some couldn’t. He would have to ask Ratchet.

“I found you in an alley, bleeding out,” Prowl answered. “There was no one around, I scanned, so whoever did that to you had gone. I had my medic friend help me bring you to my habsuite. It was starting to rain, the medical facilities wouldn’t risk sending out an ambulance for you, and my place was much closer.” He paused briefly, watching for any reaction on the bounty hunter’s strangely marked face. He schooled his expression well. “Your spark almost guttered twice.”

“Uh huh, and what is this ‘care’ gonna cost me?” Lockdown demanded bluntly.

Prowl frowned again. “Why are you so fixed on us _wanting_ something from you?”

“Kid, in my line of work, someone _always_ wants something from yer.”

“We’re not _in_ your line of work,” the ninjbot replied irritably.

“Heh, universal exchange. Doesn’t matter if yer a bounty hunter or not, no one does slag for free. Bet yer medic friend wants something in return for his services.”

“He _does_. He wants you _out_.” Prowl replied heatedly.

Lockdown’s weird face split into a grin, which irritated Prowl even more. “My two rescuers don’t want anything, huh? Well, you better name your price, because I don’t owe _anyone_ favors, and I sure as slag won’t be in your debt, so just gimme a fee, kid, and we’ll call it even.”

“I don’t want your money!”

“Now I _know_ yer lying. Everybody wants money.”

Prowl pushed himself away from his lean on the door jamb. “Keep your dirty credits, bounty hunter,” he huffed. “Maybe it’s an unheard of concept to you, but bots around here _do_ help others in need _without_ the incentive of compensation.” He turned his back on the prone mech. “Though there is one thing you can do: heal quicker so you can leave sooner.”

He closed the door behind him.

Inside the berth room, Lockdown closed his optics and smirked. Kid had spunk. He liked that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I’m not a fan of the term ‘femme’, to me ‘mech/mechanoid’ refers to all, it’s not ‘male’, it’s just Cybertronian. I don’t particularly like the whole male = mech and female = femme terminology, it’s just too human equivalent to me. In case you were confused by the use above, referring to 'roommate's mech.  
Please don’t mistake my preference though for judgment or distain etc, I respect and appreciate that many authors use these terms respectively.


End file.
